


leave the ruins where they fall

by elinciacrimea



Series: relive [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Julian/Lena and Caeda/Marth, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Character Study, F/F, Fix-It, Implied Sexual Content, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Past Camus/Nyna - Freeform, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea
Summary: The ladies of House Archanea do not cut their hair. Not even to trim away split ends, or remove errant tangles - they must keep it unbroken, from birth until death.A queen who gave away her crown, a queen who never claimed hers, and what they found instead.
Relationships: Ellis | Elice/Niena | Nyna
Series: relive [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717750
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	leave the ruins where they fall

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be like...10k. Whoops. Lace can have little a crackship, as a treat.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS FOR: suicidal ideation/intentions and domestic violence (with possessed Hardin,) as well as some sexual content. All the scenes are fairly brief, but if you need more specific warnings, feel free to ask and I can provide!

The ladies of House Archanea do not cut their hair. Not even to trim away split ends, or remove errant tangles - they must keep it unbroken, from birth until death.

The nature of the tradition is lost to time - was it meant to be a symbol of some sort? An indicator of the power and value such women possessed, proof that they had the time and money to waste on luxuries? Had a vow been made that no queen or princess would shear her hair until true peace came to the land? Or was it merely a way to keep years of kings' trophies polished and gleaming? Historians have argued, fables have been written, and yet the truth remains unknown. But the tradition was known to be in place long before Artemis, and has continued on past her.

So Princess Nyna's hair trails to her ankles when loose, and it takes nearly an hour for her attendants to brush and pin it up each morning. It is beautiful, towering, painfully heavy, a burden that weighs down her neck and head, and she has never considered letting it be anything but.

\---

When Nyna is nine, her eldest brother turns eighteen. The crown prince's coming-of-age ceremony mandates a celebration like no other, and the royal families all over the continent swarm to the Millennium Court, rows of kings with their heirs in hand. Nyna has met most of them - Prince Michalis of Macedon who sulks in his jovial father's shadow, the childless King Grust who bickers endlessly with Nyna's own father, the friendly King Aurelis accompanied by his younger, sharp-eyed brother. 

But for this splendid gathering, even the smallest kingdoms have been summoned, and so today there is a tall, unfamiliar man, with a girl and a boy trailing along at his heels. The boy is very young, and clings to his sister's hand, hiding behind her skirts when others get close, but the girl stands tall and proud, only a year or two Nyna's junior.

There are no other princesses here, save Princess Gra who is too small to be of much interest, and so Nyna's curiosity is piqued. When there is a lull in conversation and curtsying, she crosses the room to where the girl and boy are standing by the refreshment table, looking a little out of place.

"Are you enjoying the festivities?" Nyna asks, trying to sound like her mother.

"We are," says the other princess, clearly lying, but Nyna knows it's just a company lie, so she lets it go. "Thank you for having us."

"I am glad," says Nyna. "Might I ask your name?"

"It is Elice," says the other girl. She is a little shorter than Nyna herself. "I am the princess of Altea."

Nyna curtsies. "I am Princess Nyna of Archanea."

"This is my little brother, Marth," says Elice. "He's the heir, but he doesn't like crowds, so Father brought me along to help look after him. You must bow to the princess, Marth."

Marth gives a very tentative bow, not meeting Nyna's eyes, and then buries his face in Elice's dress again.

"He's shy." Elice rests a hand on Marth's head, both protective and soothing. "I apologize, Your Highness."

"You needn't," says Nyna. "So you are the elder, but not the heir?"

"I cannot wield Falchion, Altea's holy sword," says Elice, giving a tight little smile. "But Marth can. So the blade will go to him, and with it the crown."

"I see," says Nyna quickly. "I apologize."

"No, no." Elice shakes her head. "I don't mind. If I am truthful, Princess Nyna, I do not want to be the queen."

"Nor do I," Nyna confesses. "It seems like a dreadful lot of work. It is hard enough being a princess."

Elice nods slowly. "You understand, then."

"Elice." The booming voice makes Nyna jump, but Elice and Marth don't react. "You are not bothering Princess Archanea, are you?"

"No, Father." Elice curtsies. "Merely making conversation."

King Cornelius is as tall as Nyna's father, and his face is much sterner than either of his children. He stands like a mountain, eyes glittering. "I asked you not to make trouble, Elice."

"She was no trouble," Nyna says quickly. "I was the one who approached her."

King Cornelius seems to hear Nyna's voice, but not her words. He only bows. "I apologize for my errant daughter, Princess. Come, Elice, Marth. I must keep a closer watch on the two of you."

"I understand, Father." Elice takes Marth's hand, and nods to Nyna. "Farewell, Princess Nyna. May the gods bless you."

"And you," Nyna echoes, but Cornelius has already hurried his children away through the crowd.

Nyna does not see either of them again until both her and their kingdoms are ash.

\---

"Mother," Nyna asks one day, as the servants comb both their hair in the bathing chamber, "what is the duty of a princess?"

"That depends on the princess, doesn't it?" Aleia's eyes glitter as she watches her daughter. "Be specific, darling."

"What is the duty of an Archanean princess?" Nyna's hands twist on her robe-clad lap. "What is _my_ duty?"

"I see," Aleia muses, leaning her head back to allow the servant better access to her part. "What brings you to ask?"

"I do not know," Nyna confesses. "Only that I am always trying to live up to being a princess, and I yet am not sure what that even means."

"It can mean something different to everyone," says Aleia. "But to Archanea...the most valuable currency a princess has is her pride."

"Pride?"

"Princess Artemis never bowed to the enemy, even as they killed her family, destroyed her homeland. You are a piece of a history that goes beyond what any of us can comprehend. You are a daughter of Artemis, and her ancestors, all the heroes that came before. As long as you have that pride, a piece of that history is being written in you. Never abandon your birthright. Never surrender, and never back down."

"That sounds like what Boah says."

"Does it, now?"

"Yes. 'Archanea must never falter, else the entire continent will fall as well.'"

"That is my advice to you as a queen to a princess," says Aleia. "Now, allow me to give you some advice as a mother to her daughter."

"Mother?"

"I do not care if you have pride or not, Nyna." Aleia drops her voice. "What I want you to remember...is that you must live. And that you must be happy. Even if it means surrendering, or bowing down, I want you to seize your own happiness. That is the only thing I want for you."

"I don't understand." Nyna's brow furrows. "That is not what you said before. Which advice am I to follow?"

"That is up to you," says Aleia. "Only remember...whether you choose to live as a princess, or as a daughter, or neither...I will always be proud of you."

\---

The day the Millennium Court falls, both princes are killed in the initial onslaught. The king attempts to muster his remaining forces in one last, desperate stand as invaders tear down the palace doors and blood spills in marble halls. Queen Aleia steps in front of an arrow aimed at her daughter. It kills her instantly, and Nyna has no chance for any farewell before Midia has dragged her from the bedroom.

Escaping quickly becomes impossible, and while Nyna's guards fight bravely, the reinforcements are simply too many in number. Still, Nyna refuses to negotiate surrender, pride holding her head high and keeping her tears from flowing.

Her brothers are dead. Her mother is dead. Should her father fall too, Nyna will be Archanea.

She is a princess, not a daughter. And she will not allow herself to falter.

But in the end, that is not enough. At the end of the struggle, Nyna and her men are cornered by the enemy general, the hated Sable Knight. And so Nyna takes the dagger from Midia's belt, and prepares to allow herself to die with pride.

And a hand closes on her wrist, wrenching it tight enough to break, and she looks up into brown eyes, and with that, her path is set. Fate is inexorable, unshakable, and so Nyna hurtles towards her own undoing.

(Perhaps it is childish of her to think she couldn't have resisted. Perhaps it is her way of surrendering responsibility, and blame.)

(Perhaps she only wants to justify what she does next.)

\---

Nyna spends the next two years locked away in her bedroom. She sees a handful of servants, and her jailer - Camus of Grust himself. But that matters not, for she has her words, the icy diplomacy she learned at her parents' knee, from watching and waiting in corners when others took no notice, and that is weapon enough to allow her to walk her path.

She will not go gentle. She will stand tall, and carry the weight of Archanea on her shoulders, and fight with the only power she has left.

"You have been busy, Your Highness."

"I have nearly completed this missive," Nyna says, not looking up from her desk. "Give me another moment."

"Very well." Camus is able to move with almost no sound at all, but Nyna has adapted to detect the sound of his footsteps, the faint click of the door when he enters. "I shall leave your dinner here."

Nyna signs the note with a flourish. "Is it poisoned this time, my lord?"

"That is unnecessary." Camus's tone is flat as ever, but Nyna can almost detect a note of hurt. "I have told you, Your Highness, I will protect you with my - "

"I understand, I understand." Nyna waves a hand. "It was merely a joke, Camus. I have so few pleasures in here, you must allow me my japes. So long as you keep me here, I fear I may have to entertain myself by teasing you."

"As I have said, Princess Nyna," Camus says. "If you wish to take my life, you can have it at any time."

"Do not be foolish," says Nyna crisply. "Whatever Dolhr sends to replace you will likely be even more a monster."

Camus does not flinch at her words. He never has. Sometimes Nyna wonders if he is man or statue.

"You will die at my hand one day," Nyna tells him as she gets to her feet, holding out the sealed letter. "You will bleed just as you shed the blood of my people. But today is not that day. Thank you for dinner."

"As my lady wishes." Camus takes the letter, bows, and leaves, the heels of his boots rapping smartly against the stone floor, and it is only after the door shuts that Nyna realizes she saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

\---

The months drag on, and Nyna is still in her bedchamber. And from that chamber, she leads a rebellion. Aurelis rises to the call, and citizens from Archanea, Altea, Macedon, even little Talys join, even as Dolhr gains power, filling more and more of the continent with its foul poison. At the center of it all is Nyna, consolidating them, guiding them, helping smuggle refugees to the safety of Aurelis.

The White Rose of Archanea, they call her. Too delicate and pure to be sullied even by the blood pooling at her feet, strong enough to blossom even in adversity, and beautiful despite all attempts to crush her away.

(Would any other pretty face have done, Nyna wonders?)

Still, eighteen months after the fall of Archanea, the rebellion has grown tremendously. Camus aids and abets her in small ways, under the noses of his superiors. He helps her plan strategies, smuggles out her messages and brings responses in turn, adds an ear and a voice while turning a blind eye to what, exactly, he is aiding.

She cannot call him a friend. He is still holding her prisoner. He killed her father. But along the way, something of her feelings for him shifted, and she cannot deny that fact a moment longer.

Camus is not cruel. He is cold, but not icy. His fingers are gentle, the rare times he touches her - to steady her, to take an offered letter, or to guide her pen, always drawing his hand back quickly, as if her warmth burns him. Each bit of contact thrills her, in a way she knows it shouldn't. She dreams of him, of those gentle fingers touching her in ways that make her awake gasping and red-faced and horribly needy. And that is _wrong_ , it is twisted, it is only because he is the only person she ever sees that shows her any kindness, and she can not, should not feel this way, let her selfish heart have its way.

And yet Nyna indulges her fancy. Any day now, she knows, Dolhr will have her executed, put an end to this charade, and Nyna is too selfish to send away the one thing bringing her joy in these last days of her life.

"I am playing a game of correspondence strategy with Prince Aurelis," Nyna tells him one evening, as she sits hunched over her writing table, surrounded by maps and parchment. "Where from the outer gates of Pales would be a safe place to receive a refugee group?"

"There is a gate to the east of the city that is largely unguarded, as it only leads to an abandoned slum," Camus answers. "I can mark it on a map for you."

"Thank you. I am certain to best Hardin with this strategy."

"Of course, Your Highness. Best of luck with your game."

Nyna chances a sideways glimpse at Camus, illuminated by the firelight. He looks tired, she realizes, his shoulders hunched and face tinged by gray. It is only the faintest shift from his usual expression - but Nyna has come to know him well enough to see through his many masks.

"Please take a seat, Camus," Nyna says. "You've been on your feet all day, haven't you?"

"There is much to do," says Camus. "I am fine."

"Nonsense. I insist." Nyna gestures to one of the armchairs by the fire. "Sit a moment. I shan't tell a soul."

"Very well, Your Highness." Camus takes the armchair.

"Remove your coat. It is rude to be so overdressed in a lady's presence."

"Is it?" Camus asks, but he obliges her. She can see the line of his collarbone beneath his blouse, and even that chaste bit of skin is enough to make her catch her breath.

"Princess Nyna? Is something the matter?"

Nyna's well aware she's staring, but does not avert her eyes as she turns in her chair to face him, abandoning her project. "Nothing. I suppose I've never seen you relax before."

"I have never relaxed, Princess."

"Of course not." Nyna folds her legs. "You are the Sable Order's general, after all."

"That I am." There is something odd in Camus's eyes when he looks at her, a sort of - fondness? Could that be possible?

She has not threatened his life in nearly a year, Nyna realizes. And he gazes at her like she is worth all the gold in the world, like she is not only his liege but his life - 

And she is so tired, and so selfish.

"There is something I wish to do," Nyna says quietly. "Something that is not best for Archanea, but - but that I feel is best for me."

Camus's brow tightens. "And what is that, my lady?"

"What would you have me do, Camus?" Nyna asks, ignoring his question. "Follow my head, or my heart?"

"I do not know what you speak of," says Camus. "But if it is within my power, I will aid you. I am yours. I promised my life to you, and so I meant it. Do whatever it is you wish to."

Nyna gets to her feet, and crosses the room to stand over where he sits. She leans down, resting a hand on his face, tracing her thumb over his lips. His eyes have gone wide, and he sits utterly still, like the marble statue she once thought him to be. But he is alive, and warm, and his eyes dart down as she lifts herself into the chair atop him, her skirt hitching up her thighs.

"What are you doing, Princess?" Camus asks her. His voice wavers only slightly.

"What I wish to," Nyna answers, situating herself on his lap. She is being foolish and ridiculous and absurd - _he killed your people, your father, your mother and your brothers, he slaughtered them all_ \- but she could die at any moment, and she no longer cares. "Is this acceptable?"

"You know that it is not." But his hands have come up to rest on her hips, and that contact, just shy of being chaste, is enough to thrill her.

Nyna leans forward, until their cheeks are nearly brushing together, their lips centimeters apart. Her hands rest flat against his chest, and his heartbeat is faster than she expects. "Is this?"

"Your Highness…"

"Nyna," Nyna whispers. "For tonight, I order you to only call me Nyna."

"As…" Camus swallows, and she can feel it in his chest. "As you wish. Nyna."

"Good," Nyna strokes the side of his face again. "Very good."

"Do you have...any further orders?"

"Kiss me," Nyna demands.

"Are you...certain?" Camus swallows again. "If I do...I fear that I will be unable to stop."

"Good," Nyna repeats.

"As my lady wishes," Camus whispers, and that is the last full sentence either of them utters that night. He carries her to the bed, and looses her hair with steady hands, and it fans over them both, long enough to trail on the floor, and he says her name again and again, all through that night, until it is loud enough to drown out the part of her mind reminding her that she has made the greatest mistake of her life.

\---

For six months, a dalliance becomes an affair. And they do not speak of it, not in words, only with their bodies, and Nyna knows he must know how dearly, how desperately she loves him, even if she dares not say it, even if she sees her parents' disappointment in her nightmares and the last thread of her sanity begs her to heed them. She knows she mustn't. She knows there is nothing healthy about what they have. And yet, every regret dissipates whenever Camus's lips meet hers, and so her sins continue to pile on her back.

They escape, together. They run, together.

Their last kiss is at the border of Aurelis, the other Sable Knights averting their eyes as Camus draws Nyna roughly to him, once, only once before he pushes her away, sending her stumbling back across the grass as he mounts his horse.

"Wait," Nyna pleads, reaching out for him. "I don't want this. Camus, I don't want - "

"Run!" Camus shouts to her, already breaking into a full gallop, turning his horse to face the oncoming soldiers.

"Wait!" Nyna shrieks. "Wait, Camus, come with me! We can go to Aurelis - we can fight Dolhr - we can be safe there, together - _please,_ Camus - "

He meets her eyes over his shoulder, and his are wild with pain and regret, and she has never seen him make that face before - and then that glimmer of weakness fades, and his mask falls back into place, steady and stern, and he rides away, a single figure against a horde.

"Princess, please hurry!" one of the knights calls, and so she turns, and she runs, through the forest, into Prince Hardin's waiting arms, and her heart breaks with every step.

\---

Nyna raises an army. She and Prince Hardin gather troops from all of Archanea, forming a new League, preparing to overthrow Dolhr. And eventually, Prince Marth is among them.

Nyna dimly recalls once meeting the children of Altea, but Marth looks unfamiliar to her, a boy with a round face and hopeful eyes. But he is strong, and bright, and brave, and Nyna trusts him.

She gives him the Fire Emblem, just as Artemis did for Anri, and tries not to think about what that might one day mean.

\---

They would have to face Camus eventually. Nyna knew that from the beginning.

Still, she runs across the bloodied battlefield to find him, and she rips her heart open and throws it at his feet, begs and pleads with him, with the gods, with any who will listen - 

But he does not relent, and eventually, Marth's blade goes through his chest, and he crumples into the grass, and Nyna's screams ring in her own ears as Midia carries her away.

Later, Marth comes to her room, in the safety of the seized castle. He apologizes, as if it is his fault, or anyone's but her own.

She is such a fool. Such a coward, such a child.

"I...recovered this." Marth unwraps a long, narrow bundle in his arms. "I thought...I would bring it to you. You might choose who can wield it."

Gradivus shines, even in this empty room with the curtains drawn. Nyna stares at it.

Marth sets the lance down, gingerly, at her feet. Someone has wiped away the blood that had just stained its handle. "I will step out. Send for me if you need anything."

Nyna nods. "Thank you, Marth."

Marth bows, and then leaves the room, sparing her one last, sad glance. And she hates herself all the more for it - why should he be sad for her? 

She knew from the beginning at least one of them would die.

_Farewell, my princess._

How could he?

_I pray you meet someone who can bring joy back into your life._

How could she?

Nyna sinks slowly to her knees, lifting Gradivus into her lap. It doesn't feel like him. It isn't warm enough. But her fingers trace the blade regardless. He held it, once.

She should be happy. Camus was a powerful enemy, and never would have been anything but. He was far too stubborn. She always knew that. Yet she indulged herself, and so there is none to blame for her suffering but herself.

Perhaps she did not love him enough. Perhaps she should never have loved him at all. She doesn't know. She cannot know.

_You will die at my hand one day._

_You will bleed just as you shed the blood of my people._

And so he did.

She rests her forehead against Gradivus and weeps like a child, in a way she hasn't since her family's blood wet the stones of the Millennium Court, mourning the man who ruined her country, and despises herself for every selfish tear.

\---

Princess Elice is not quite what Nyna was expecting.

After a long struggle, the Archanean League saves her from her years' prison, and Marth cries like the child he is. Nyna can only glimpse blue hair where the siblings cling to each other, and so she keeps her distance, allowing them their moment together. Even once they part, Elice has to greet every soldier of Altea, her eyes bright and shining as she kisses Caeda's cheek, squeezes Merric's hand, embraces Cain and Abel both, wipes away Jagen's tears.

But eventually, Marth brings Elice to Nyna's tent to make formal introductions. His eyes shine, he radiates joy in a way he never has before - as if a darkness Nyna did not even realize he carried has at last been cleared from his heart.

"Princess Nyna." Marth bows. "Forgive my tardiness. This is - my elder sister, Princess Elice of Altea."

Elice curtsies. Her blue hair is tangled and her dress plain, but she holds her head high and proud. "It is an honor, Your Highness."

"The honor is mine." Nyna manages a smile. "I am so pleased to see you safe."

"Thanks to all of you," says Elice. "I do hope we will be able to spend time together, and that I can be an asset to you. I'm afraid I've never been trained as a soldier myself, but I do know a fair amount of battle strategy, and I am quite skilled with a staff. And I am loath to return home while my little brother leads an army."

"The aid of another would be much appreciated," says Nyna. "Thank you. Marth, I did not wish to rush you, but Prince Hardin wishes to see you…"

Marth freezes. "Ah! I completely forgot."

"Then hurry along," says Elice, patting his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

"Very - very well." Marth bows to Nyna one more time, and then hurries out of the tent.

"I thought, perhaps, time would have hardened and bent him," Elice says quietly, watching him go. "But he is still the same boy he always was, even with all this suffering…"

"Marth, you mean?" Nyna asks, and immediately feels a bit silly.

"Yes." Elice turns away from the tent flap to face Nyna once more. "He was always so trusting, so gentle...unlike me, I suppose."

"You have been through a lot," says Nyna gently.

Elice's laugh is hidden behind her hand. "Oh, I do not mean only now. I have always been this way. Stubborn, and strong-willed, and distrusting. It drove my father mad."

Nyna is unsure how to answer.

"But Marth is not like that." Elice folds her hands. "He is kind, and generous, and trusting. To him, charity is another moment of the day. He draws people to him with his compassion, and with hands open, he embraces every flaw this world has...and vows to change it."

"I see," says Nyna carefully.

"Is that why you gave him the Fire Emblem?"

"Well…" Nyna's face heats slightly. "Princess Elice, if I am entirely truthful...my choices were few."

Elice can't quite muffle her laugh this time, and it rings out in the tent. "Your Highness! I did not think you had it in you."

Nyna manages a tight-lipped smile. "But you are correct. Marth is...he is very kind. Many of our number have been recruited by his kindness, and Princess Talys's. Former bandits, cutthroats, enemy soldiers, even the princesses of Macedon...I wonder if there is anyone he would not extend a hand to."

"It gave our father no end of grief," Elice says. "The only heir...and he would have been as easy as anything to assassinate. Jagen, our parents, myself...we all tried to guard him, as best we could. And yet, here we are. My little brother will be fighting an army of dragons."

"I am certain he will make it through this," says Nyna. "There seem to be no odds he cannot overcome."

Elice shrugs. There's a dull tone in her blue eyes. "I'm glad he's safe...perhaps despite his own best efforts."

"He told me that you sacrificed yourself to protect him."

Elice nods slowly. "I knew he could not escape unless someone held the enemy back, and that he would never leave without Mother. I told him to go ahead, and I would find her and escape. It was a lie, of course. I remained on the throne, until I was dragged from it by a dragon's claws. But he lived. I do not regret hurting him, if it was necessary for him to breathe. Even if...it meant leaving him alone."

"You're a good sister."

"I try my hardest." Elice shakes her head. "That is...enough talk of such things. Today is a happy day."

Nyna nods, and hopes her own smile reaches her eyes. "Let us be along. There are many people who wish to meet you, Princess Elice."

Elice nods, and extends her arm. "Very well. Shall we, Your Highness?"

Nyna blinks.

Elice's face falls slightly, and she begins to drop her arm. "Ah, I - apologize. That was forward of me. Forgive me, I haven't spent much time around people…"

"No, no," says Nyna quickly, and she takes Elice's elbow. "Let us go."

\---

"You cannot rule alone, Princess." Boah's tone is chiding, as if he is explaining to a young child that yes, B must always come after A. "Be reasonable."

"Who would you have me wed?" Nyna asks, feeling like her chest is about to split in two, trying not to think of brown eyes and strong fingers running through her hair.

"Few of the royal families have living kings," says Boah. "But there is...Prince Hardin of Aurelis. A hero to his people and a talented commander. You chose him to bear Gradivus, did you not? He is exceptionally popular among Archaneans as a result, and Aurelis is a powerful neighbor."

"I see."

"Or there is...the newly crowned King Marth of Altea. Your little hero, and the champion of the League, who slayed the Shadow Dragon and liberated the continent."

"He is a boy," Nyna says coolly.

"True, but he would make a fine emperor, would he not?" Boah folds his hands. "It is your choice, Nyna. Both men would make a strong match."

"Must I marry either?" Nyna hates the tremble in her voice.

"Is there another you have your eye on, Your Highness?" Boah's voice is a little too shrewd, his eyes a bit too piercing, and Nyna feels herself go pale. "Who? It is irregular, but if he is a man of decent standing…"

"I…" Nyna swallows, looks away. "Boah…"

"I know what transpired back in Grust, Nyna." Boah's voice hardens. "Your scene when the enemy general was felled."

Nyna's lungs feel as though they are constricting, refusing to take in air.

"We both know that affair can never come to light. If it is known that the queen carried a torch for the man who overthrew and ravaged Archanea, slayed countless innocents, killed the late king…"

"I know," Nyna whispers. "But, please, Boah...I cannot marry. Not yet. Just a little longer, please…"

"Archanea is in shambles," Boah cuts her off. "Most of the continent is devastated by war, and ruled by young, amateur monarchs. The Empire will crumble without a strong hand to guide it. The hand of a king. There is no _time,_ Nyna."

"Then…" Nyna closes her eyes. "Very well. Send word to Prince Hardin that I would like to meet with him."

"He is your choice, then?"

"If I were to wed Prince Marth, it would break Princess Caeda's heart," Nyna says. "I cannot do that to her."

"As good a reason as any. Very well, Nyna. Thank you for seeing reason." Boah bows, and departs, leaving Nyna staring ahead at the door as it shuts behind him.

She feels she should cry, but finds she cannot.

\---

The first time Nyna weeps since the day Grust fell is on her wedding day. It is not from joy.

Still, after the ceremony Nyna dries her tears and stands in the receiving line, smiling and curtsying and thanking her dear friends and allies, and she is the perfect image of the loving wife, a title and a pretty face. What more would she be?

"Blessings upon your union," King Marth says, and his face is rounder, healthier, than it appeared in the days of the war. He is safe, and warm, and at peace, and even Nyna's frozen heart eases a bit at the sight.

Princess Caeda has her arm wound through his, and does not let it go as she curtsies. "You look beautiful, Empress Nyna. The ceremony was lovely."

"Thank you both," says Nyna. "I am happy to see the two of you again, especially for such a happy occasion."

Marth's blue eyes search hers, and Nyna stares back and hopes he cannot see the hollows within. "You are...doing well, then?"

Nyna's smile feels brittle enough to shatter. "Of course. This is the happiest day of my life."

Marth does not believe her - it is plain in the way his hand tightens on his breast, the faintest frown that presses at the corners of his mouth. But Nyna only smiles blandly back, and he finally tears his eyes from hers and nods. "I am glad to hear it. I will take up your time no longer, then." And he and Caeda proceed on to speak with Hardin.

After them comes a third blue-haired figure, taller and leaner, with a sharper face and kind eyes. "Blessings upon this union."

"Princess Elice." Nyna inclines her head. "I am glad to see you today."

"And I to see you." Elice's eyes are just as shrewd as her brother's - perhaps moreso. "It must have been a long day for you. You look tired."

"I suppose I am, a bit. There was much to do."

"I don't mean to say you look anything but lovely," Elice adds, a little hastily. "Merely that...well, none can blame you for being weary."

"I suppose not." Nyna wonders what Marth has told her - if anything. "Do enjoy the festivities, Your Highness." 

Elice's eyebrows lift at the dismissal, but she only curtsies and moves on. Nyna stares dead ahead, trying to silence the anxiety that swells her heart, sending it pounding fast enough that she fancies Hardin can hear it beside her.

\---

Hardin is a patient man, a good husband, and he asks little of her. Nyna kissed him once at the wedding and a few times since, impersonal little pecks like those shared between shy children. She holds his hand, at times. She sits and speaks with him, about matters of state, the future of their land, even aimless debates (and that, she does not mind, because his mind is sharp and his compassion plentiful and he is a kind man, a good man, so why can she not love him?)

She'd attempted to do more, once. Boah's voice, needling her about heirs and limited time, had been ringing in her ears. But both Nyna and her husband had still both been clothed by the time she had frozen, and wept, and Hardin had comforted her from the other side of the bed, because she could not bear to be touched even then. He had not been unkind, or even shown impatience. A good man. Why isn't it enough?

(Queen Artemis died bearing the heir from her loveless marriage, and Nyna would be lying if she said that there were quiet nights when she did not desperately hope for the same.)

It will be all right. Nyna can bear this. She has borne worse. She is safe, and loved, and well cared for, and more importantly, so is Archanea. In time, the pain will ease. In time, she will be the wife he deserves. 

It will all be all right.

\---

"Hardin," Nyna says softly, trying to keep her hands from trembling. "Please, tell me whatever is the matter."

"There is just one thing I would ask of you, Nyna," Hardin says quietly, staring out the window. His head is bowed, and Nyna cannot see his face. "Will you answer me truthfully? No matter...no matter how much it might cause you pain?"

"I…" Nyna's gut churns. "Anything."

Hardin turns to face her. His eyes are soft, and Nyna has to force herself to meet them. "Then, please. This one question."

"I am listening."

"Did you ever love me at all?"

Nyna has lied so many times in her life that she has lost count. But this time, the false words cannot come to her lips. Not in the face of Hardin's grief.

She does not have to say a word. Hardin's face falls, and he bows his head. "I see."

Nyna wants to apologize, to explain herself, to say anything at all, but her throat has frozen over and she can feel Camus's lips against her neck.

"Very...very well." Hardin straightens. His eyes look dull. "I will...see you later. Your Majesty. Excuse me." He rushes from the room.

(Nyna does not know it then, but she will never see Hardin again. Only an empty shell.)

\---

Nyna clicks the lock of her bedroom door into place, her hands slipping on the brass. Her eyes are dull, aching from tears that have come constant and unbidden in these last days, her mask crumbling in the face of terror.

"I don't understand," Linde pants, hovering behind her. "What is the matter? What has happened?"

"There isn't time." Nyna crosses the room in five brisk strides. "You need to leave this place. Something is terribly wrong, and - you must flee."

"Flee?" Linde's eyes are wide and scared, and for once she looks like the child she is. "Your Majesty - "

Nyna's fingers cross the books on her towering shelf, press once against a spine and twice on another, and she steps back as the bookshelf creaks, rattles, and slides across the wall, revealing a tunnel. She and Camus once fled through it, a lifetime ago. "You must find Prince Marth. Travel to Macedon - he should be there, on Hardin's orders. Do not stop, do not speak to anyone. Hide yourself and what you carry with your life."

"What I carry?"

"This." Nyna shoves a cloth-wrapped bundle into Linde's arms. "You know what it is. Give it to him. You must."

Linde's eyes widen at the weight of the Fire Emblem, and she draws it to her chest, hugging it with both arms. "But what about you?"

Nyna presses her lips to the crown of Linde's head. "Go. Go, and do not look back, and do not once think of me. I order it."

Linde nods, eyes brimming with tears, and she turns and runs into the tunnel. Nyna shoves the bookshelf back into place behind her, and turns just in time to hear the fist slamming against her bedroom door. It swings open a second later, feeble lock giving way.

"Husband," Nyna greets him, her heart in her throat. "What is the matter?"

"You know very well what is the matter." Hardin's armor creaks as he crosses the room towards her. It is red, towering armor, like nothing she has ever known him to wear, entirely unlike the flowing, light fabrics of Aurelis. "Don't you...Empress Nyna?"

"Hardin?" Nyna backs up against the bookshelf. "Whatever do you…"

He laughs suddenly. It is a cracking, broken laugh, not the laugh she knows, and certainty hits Nyna in a wave.

"You aren't Hardin," Nyna whispers. "You never were. Who are you? What have you done with him?"

"Shouldn't you ask that question of yourself, little rose?" The armored fingers scrape down the side of her face, a harsh mockery of a lover's caress. "You, who broke and twisted an innocent man's heart…"

"I did not wish to," Nyna whispers. "Hardin, please, fight it. Come back to me. I beg of you, come back - I care deeply for you - I never intended to hurt you - "

Those armored fingers shift from her face, down her neck. Slowly, almost gently, they curl around her throat.

"Hardin," Nyna pleads (she does not want to die, not truly, even now.) "Hardin, do not - do not do this - I will do whatever you wish of me, I - "

"Silence," Hardin - not Hardin, but it wears his face, and she can only think of it as him - hisses. "You will serve Gharnef well."

"Gharnef? What do you - "

Hardin's gauntlets creak as his fingers tighten, and Nyna can only manage one breath before her airway is cut off, her throat screaming in pain almost at once from the steady, unbearable pressure. He grips her tight enough that her feet nearly leave the ground; tears spring to her eyes as she grabs at his hand, trying desperately to pry his fingers free as her vision starts to swim.

"Hardin," Nyna gasps, her fingers scrabbling on his armor. "Hardin, _please_ \- "

He laughs, and the black spots dotting her vision swallow the world.

\---

_She lies in a field of white roses. A figure sits at her side, face unseeable in the mist._

_"Camus?" Nyna whispers, reaching up for him. His fingers catch and curl around hers. "Is that you? Am I with you?"_

_He does not speak, only brings her hand up to the mouth she cannot see._

_"Camus," Nyna repeats. "Tell me, I - "_

_His silence deafens her. For a long time, they lie in the silence. And she should be happy, but she cannot be. Even where his hand touches hers, she is colder than stone._

_The roses curl and turn black, and she lies still as the wilted petals swallow her, as she falls through them, swallowed by the dark. But she does not mind, because her hand is in his..._

"Did she just move?"

"Empress Nyna?"

Nyna's head aches.

"It's going to be all right now, Your Majesty."

"Take a deep breath. Can you hear us?"

The voices are familiar, but Nyna cannot place them. Her mind is swimming, and her throat burns worse than any fever.

A cool hand brushes against her forehead. "Are you awake?"

Nyna does not want to open her eyes. She does not want to leave the rose garden, decayed as it was. She knows that the hand touching her is not Camus's, the voices are not his, and maybe she is a child clinging to a good dream, but…

But the pain forces her eyes open.

"There you are." The voice is gentle as a mother's. "Can you hear me, Your Majesty?"

Nyna squints at the blurry face, framed by red hair. "Sis...Sister Lena…?"

"That's right. How are you feeling?"

Nyna can only answer that with a moan.

"Take it easy," comes another voice. "We healed you as best we could without a staff, but you shouldn't strain yourself."

The second face has red hair, too, and a gleaming golden circlet. Nyna wonders, faintly, why she is in the presence of the princess of Macedon.

A hand strokes back Nyna's hair. It's loose, she realizes, hanging tangled around her shoulders. "She's in shock." Something shifts beneath Nyna, and it is only then that she realizes the soft thing beneath her head is somebody's lap. Silk brushes against her cheek.

"I…" Nyna forces her aching throat to swallow. "Where...what…?"

"We don't know where we are," says Lena. "A dungeon of some sort. We were all blindfolded and unconscious when we we brought here."

"We…"

"Yes. Me, Princess Maria, and Princess Elice."

 _Ah._ So that is the owner of the lap. Nyna feels her cheeks heat at the impropriety of it all. "I...forgive me my appearance…"

"No need," says Maria. "You've been through something dreadful, haven't you?"

"Tell me…" Nyna whispers. "Tell me...what's happening?"

"We don't know," Lena repeats. "Maria was taken hostage by rebels, and then kidnapped from them as well. I was taken from my village in Macedon. We both found ourselves here. Shortly after that, Princess Elice was arrested by Archanean forces when Altea fell, and joined us. And then...the cell door opened again, and you were thrown in."

Nyna coughs.

"Is there any water?" Lena asks the other two.

"I'll go look." Maria disappears from Nyna's vision.

Nyna tries to speak, but her damaged throat won't allow it. She struggles, trying to force the words to leave her.

"It's all right, Your Majesty." Elice's voice is stern, but gentle, like a schoolteacher's. "Just rest."

"It's not - " Nyna coughs. Maria reappears, a wooden dipper in her small hands, and she brings it to Nyna's lips. The cool swallow allows Nyna to catch her breath, and she tries again. "It's not all right. This is - all my fault - Hardin - "

"You're unwell," says Lena. "We can speak later. All you need to do now is allow your body time to heal."

"No," Nyna whispers, tears trickling down her face, falling into her hair. Elice's hand brushes them away, and somehow that makes them come faster. Why are these women showing her such kindness, when the fault for their imprisonment is hers? "I have doomed - Archanea - "

"You can't speak now," Elice says. The softness is gone, her tone now brooking no argument. "You can tell us once you've recovered somewhat, but you'll only lose your voice altogether if you keep this up. Rest, Your Majesty. I may not have the authority to give you orders, but I hope you heed them regardless."

Nyna tries to protest, but it dies on her lips, and she slips again into the restless world of sleep.

_\---_

The next time Nyna awakens, her body still aches, her throat is still raw, but she can sit up and speak without doing further damage. The other three women still keep a pointed eye on her, but she heeds their wishes this time, sitting quietly and allowing them to poke and prod at her injuries.

The room they are kept in is small and dank. A few flat bedrolls are the only furnishings, and small meals are pushed through a flap in the iron-reinforced door. Nyna is unsure as to whether it is her own dungeon, or another - she never spent any time there. Hardin always handled such things.

(She tries not to think of Hardin.)

"If I had a tome," Elice says, brow furrowing as she runs a hand over the door, "this would be trivial."

"That's probably why they disarmed you," Maria says wryly, resting her chin on her knees. For whatever reason, she seems determined to curl up into the smallest possible shapes, as if it will somehow protect her from their current reality. "Smart of them."

Elice sighs, lowering her hands. "It isn't any use, I suppose. I just can't help thinking of it."

"They will come," Lena says quietly. "I know Julian - the others - they'll come for us."

"Marth will, yes," says Elice, turning to lean against the door. "My concern is whether he'll make it here alive."

"Whoever the enemy is," Maria says quietly, "it can't be worse than Medeus, right? So - so King Marth, and Minerva, and the others - they'll make it here. We just - we just have to be patient."

Nyna fiddles with the ends of her own hair. Maria managed to get it tied away from her face, but it's tangled beyond what fingers can work free.

_Who would come for her?_

No, it is a selfish thought. Linde will return for Nyna, despite what she promised. Even if the Wolfguard remains loyal to Hardin, Midia, Jeorge, Astram, Boah - they will all fly to her side.

A part of Nyna hopes they won't. And that thought ought to frighten her, she knows, but - somehow, she cannot care.

"It will be all right, Your Majesty." Lena rests a hand on Nyna's shoulder. "At least we have each other."

Nyna knows her smile appears false. "Of course. We must - keep each others' spirits up."

That is, when they feel well enough to speak. Most of the time, Maria's breathing comes rushed and fast, and she leans against the stone wall with her eyes furrowed shut. Lena prays, bowed forehead resting on her clenched, white-knuckled fists. And Elice is silent, still as a stone, her hands folded in her lap, gazing at something Nyna cannot see.

All four of them are no strangers to captivity.

\---

Nyna does not know how much time passes in that dank cell. Days, certainly. Weeks, most likely. Months, possibly. There is no way to know. The others grow paler and thinner, the only metric Nyna has to measure by.

If she did not have them, Nyna would have taken leave of her senses entirely. She wonders how Elice and Maria bore their own years alone.

The day that the door opens - some time later - and light comes flooding in, Nyna half expects to see Marth's beaming face behind it. But it is not, of course, only a row of black-robed men, who haul them to their feet, one by one, and march them along a stone hallway.

The pace is not fast, but it is the most any of them have moved in ages. Nyna stumbles, trying to stay on her feet, and Elice takes her arm. Nyna looks up into her set, pale face, and tries to thank her, but words won't come to her lips.

"If…" Lena swallows. Her voice echoes down the corridor. "If any one of you survive this, then...please apologize to Julian for me."

"Apologize to him yourself," says Maria. She's trembling, but her voice is firm. "We're all going home together."

Lena's answering smile does not reach her eyes.

Their destination is another room Nyna cannot recognize. They come to a teetering stop, and doors are slammed behind them. The black-robed men disperse, forming rows that frame the room, and behind them…

Hardin looks taller than Nyna remembers him, and much paler, and his eyes are red as his armor. And the shape beside him, red and flickering, real and not - 

"Gharnef!" Elice's voice catches. "How? This cannot…"

The shadow of Gharnef drifts across the room. "It has been some time, Princess Altea. You were even more pitifully easy to capture this time."

Elice's grip on Nyna's arm tightens, enough that her nails dig into the fabric of Nyna's dress, but she does not respond.

"You four will have the honor of playing a key role today," Gharnef continues. "Hold them."

The black-robed men march forward again, grabbing hold of Nyna and the others, pinning their arms behind them. Elice and Nyna are ripped apart, and Nyna reaches out for her, not quite sure why. Another of Gharnef's followers grabs her, forcing her still.

"Let us begin the ritual," says Gharnef, standing before his captives. "It is finally time…"

"Wait," Lena says, lifting her head. "Wait - just - just let the others go, and I will do whatever you wish."

Gharnef doesn't seem to take notice of her words, but Emperor Hardin's head swivels to face her. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Lena's jaw is set, though Nyna can see sweat beading on her brow. "Please - please let them go. If you do, then I will not resist. I will give myself willingly to you."

Shame swallows Nyna. She had not even thought to do the same. What kind of empress is she?

Hardin scoffs. "Simple girl. As if I would surrender my captives. The more of you we have, the more power our master will obtain."

"But - "

"Silence," Hardin snaps. "Obey your emperor."

Gharnef nods, gripping Maria's chin. "It is time. Now, princess of Macedon...you will join me."

Maria squeezes her eyes shut, trying to turn her head away. Gharnef mutters something under his breath. Suddenly, the girl's eyes fly open, staring blankly ahead, and she screams, her body frozen stock-still even as her mouth opens. Lena struggles, unable to wrench free of her captors, Elice closes her eyes, and Nyna can only stand still, and stare.

"Minerva! MINERVA!" Tears pour down Maria's face. "Minerva, please help me! Please, I'm scared...Mich...a…" Her eyes fall shut, and her head goes slack, falling against her chest.

"Princess Maria!" Lena calls, but when Maria lifts her head again, her red eyes are entirely blank and clouded. The soldiers holding her let go, and she steps forward to stand next to Gharnef, her body moving slowly with jerking steps, like a puppet's.

"No," Elice whispers. "That magic…"

"The other girl from Macedon, next," Gharnef hisses. "Her blood is weaker, and she will pose less resistance."

The men holding Lena march forward at his words. Gharnef grabs her face, jerking her up to face him.

"Sister Lena." Gharnef's tone is mocking. "You aided Miloah's brat in my...death, did you not? At last, now...you will suffer as I have suffered."

"You will burn," Lena gasps. "Archanea felled you once, and they will do so again. You'll see - "

And then her mouth clamps shut, her head jerks to one side, she trembles as if fighting against something. And then she screams. Only once, but it is long, wordless, harsh and grating, and she crumples to the ground. When she stands, it's with slow, heavy movements, and eyes devoid of kindness, as empty as Maria's.

"Princess Altea," Gharnef orders.

"Princess Elice," Nyna mutters, forcing her frozen lips to move, trying to look anywhere but at the empty shells of Lena and Maria. "I am - I am so sorry - "

There is no humor or comfort in Elice's smile. "I know, Nyna."

Nyna's eyes widen at the informal use of her name, but in the next instant, Elice's body has frozen. She does not scream as the other two did, but her face goes white as a sheet, and she shakes as if having a seizure, and then she is motionless.

"And last, and most precious of all…" Gharnef croons, reaching up to rest a cold hand against Nyna's cheek. "The empress herself. Any words of fond farewell, Emperor Hardin?"

"Death is too good for the witch," says Hardin. Nyna does not look at him, her eyes drawn past, to the shell of Elice, to those blue eyes, no longer kind but blank, blank - 

And then the darkness sinks into Nyna's flesh, and pain overtakes her, and the world is gone.

_\---_

_The dark swallows her, consumes her._

_Her parents, her brothers, Camus, Marth, Elice, Boah, Midia, Linde, Hardin…_

_She disappointed them all. She ruined Archanea._

_The land is bleak, empty and gray. She wanders through it aimlessly, dark soil crunching beneath her bare feet. The fog is too thick to see more than a foot ahead of her, but somehow, she knows. This is Archanea, her home, the land she was sworn to protect…_

_...and now it is ash._

_Nyna does not sleep, or pause, or breathe. She only wanders the ruins she created, crumbled stone husks that were once buildings, towns, people. Bones are mixed in the soil, gray and fragile as charcoal, the citizens she failed. Her feet ache against the rough stone, her lungs burn and fill with smoke, and in time she is nothing at all, just an empty husk of regret, and it is only what she deserves._

_She speaks, and nobody hears._

_"I've done something...terrible. I was foolish...I hurt Hardin...I drove him to despair…"_

"My queen...Prince Marth has ended Hardin's suffering."

_Your queen…?_

"The emperor loved you til the very end. He was sorry for what he'd done to you."

_He had no cause to be sorry._

"It's alright now."

_The voice is so soothing. Nyna leans into it, and with it, light creeps into the edges of her vision..._

"You need not worry."

_She knows this voice. Better than even her own._

"It was all just a bad dream…"

"...Who…?" Nyna whispers, and then gasps as light floods her vision. She staggers, her legs failing her as she falls against a figure. The world is blurred, still tinted with gray, and Nyna struggles to blink the vestiges of darkness from her eyes. "What…"

"Easy now," comes the voice, and Nyna's head jerks up to see the speaker, because it cannot be, this cannot be real, and she cannot see his eyes but the shape of the jaw, the curls of blonde hair, the firm chest against her own - 

"You're..." Her fingers curl in his jacket, and her tears are blurring her vision, and she tries to blink them away, tries to see his face, the face she knew she never would again, because she saw the light leave his eyes back in Grust. "Camus? Camus!"

(This cannot be real, but she longs for it to be.)

"Why...why are you…" Nyna reaches up, rests a trembling hand against his face, feeling the warmth there. "This is a dream...isn't it?"

Camus recoils from her arms, clasps her hands in his (and they are his, she knows them, she _knows)_ and pulls them back from his chest. "My queen...you are mistaken. I am Sirius, a soldier of the allied forces. I know not of this Camus…"

"Sirius...?" Nyna shakes her head, grabs at his chest again. "It can't be…"

"I am only a soldier," the man repeats. "We have never met before."

"No!" Nyna sobs. Her voice rises, hysterics overtaking her. Every inch of her aches. "You're wrong! You're…you must be..."

The man only steps back again, gently prying himself free. "Please, calm yourself, you must be exhausted. I must depart soon."

"Depart?" Nyna shakes her head again. "Camus! What do you mean? Why are you - _how_ are you here? Please, answer me…"

He only turns away. "Queen Nyna, listen to me...you should go to King Marth. He will protect you."

"You…" Nyna chokes on her breath, reaches for him, but he stands just away from her grasp. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"I must go to my country." Sirius looks back over his shoulder; even through the mask, brown eyes bear into hers. "There's...someone waiting for me."

Nyna thought her heart could break no further, but in that instant, it shatters. Pieces of glass fall through her, leaving pain in their wake. She draws a shuddering breath, reaches for the last of her composure, even though she feels she must be bleeding, crumpling, dying. "Is... Is that so...?"

He does not answer. He does not need to.

"I see…" Nyna blinks hard, forces her mask back into place, tries to stand straight. "Sirius...Thank you. I am...most grateful."

Sirius lowers his head as he turns away. "...Forgive me…"

"Pardon...?"

"No... It is nothing. Now, Queen Nyna, go!" And he runs, and she tries to follow, she does; but her legs tangle in unfamiliar skirts, her body does not remember how to move, remembers nothing but the empty void, and she falls into its yawning embrace.

\---

Nyna awakens again, the air itself harsh on her tear-raw face, gasping. She's in a dark room. She's wearing a thick white robe, and her hair is hanging in tangles around her face. Her body feels as though every inch of it has been pounded flat with stones.

"The empress woke up!"

Two faces come into view. One Nyna vaguely recognizes, and beside him, a young girl she doesn't.

"Are you feeling all right?" the girl asks. "My name is Marisha. I'm a cleric with King Marth's army. Take it slow…"

"Camus," Nyna gasps out, eyes watering. "Where - where is Camus?"

Marisha blinks. "Er...the Sable Knight?"

"Yes...I, I saw him, he was here…"

Julian puts a hand on her shoulder. "Marth defeated him a long time ago, Your Majesty. He can't hurt you anymore. Remember?"

"No," Nyna babbles. "No, he's alive - "

"Even if he is, he can't get to you," says Julian soothingly. "You're safe now."

"I must speak to Marth," Nyna begs. "He'll know - "

"I'm sure he'll be along once he's won the battle." There's a great rumbling sound, and the room shakes slightly around them. Marisha looks cross, and Julian winces. "Er, hopefully soon."

"Where...are we?" Nyna asks.

"Down the corridor, away from where Medeus is," says Julian. "We brought you and the other priestesses back here, where it'd be safe."

"The other…" Shame hits Nyna. She hadn't even thought of them. "Are they all right?"

"Yeah," Julian looks like he doesn't quite believe his own words. "Yeah, somehow...they're all here."

Nyna turns her head to the side. She can make out three other white-robed figures, pale but alive. Lena's hand is in Julian's. "Oh...that is...a relief…"

"It's all going to be okay now," says Marisha. "Just leave it to Marisha, all right?"

"Right…" Nyna whispers. Her vision is going gray. "Please, if he comes...tell me…"

"Of course," says Marisha soothingly, resting a hand on her forehead, and the world slips away.

\---

The next hours pass in a blur. Nyna slips in and out of consciousness, but by the time she wakes fully, she is in a tent, figures surrounding her. Linde bursts into tears, flinging her arms around Nyna's neck, Midia and Astram and Jeorge all express their relief, share their grief over Hardin's death, beg for their queen's pardon, and while Nyna is happy to see them…

Her mind is elsewhere.

Marth comes to see her. It is selfish of Nyna to tear him away from his sister's side, but she does regardless. Because if anyone knows, then he must. Nyna orders the rest to leave them, and it is only herself and the young king in Midia's tent when she speaks her next words.

"Does he live?"

Marth does not need to ask. He only lowers his head.

"Please tell me," Nyna whispers.

"Do you truly wish to know?" Marth's voice is quiet enough that Nyna must strain to hear.

"Yes."

Marth draws a deep breath. "A man joined my army, some time ago. Shortly after Hardin went mad, and this wretched journey began. The traveler called himself Sirius. At all times, he wore a mask."

Nyna's fingers clench in her lap. "Then…"

"He has gone. He shook you free of Gharnef's thrall, then mounted his horse and left the Dragon's Table. None have seen him since."

"But…"

"Empress Nyna. He undoubtedly cared for you. But…" Marth's gaze is steady, calm, not unlike his sister's. "But he does not wish to be found. And I do not think he will ever return to this land."

"I...I see," Nyna repeats, just as she had hours ago. "He told me that...that there was someone waiting for him. In his homeland."

"I am sorry, Empress Nyna."

"You may go." Nyna's voice is distant. She does not see Marth leave, only caught in her whirling thoughts.

Camus lives. He does not love her.

But he lives. Should she not be happy with that?

She cannot be. She is too selfish, too foolish, too much of a monster. Spoiled, idiot, childish queen.

\---

Nyna cannot sleep that night, staring up at the canvas ceiling, the bedroll feeling suffocating.

_Camus lives._

_He does not love her._

_He lives._

_He is not with her._

_He lives._

_He has left her._

_He lives._

_He would not leave Grust for her, but he would for another._

Nyna wrenches herself out of the bedroll, emerges panting into the cool night air. Linde has brushed out Nyna's hair and tied it up, and Midia lent her a spare tunic and leggings, and it is because of those things that Nyna is able to slip unseen past sentries and across the darkened grass to the outskirts of the Archanean camp.

They're on a sheer cliff face, overlooking a craggy mountain. With every step she takes, Nyna's chest tightens, her breath becomes harder to catch.

_Hardin is dead._

_Archanea became a land of tyrants._

_Her people lost their lives in another war._

_It is all her fault._

Her bare feet come to a stop, a yard from the cliff's edge. A few strands of Nyna's hair come free of Linde's handiwork, fluttering loose across the dark, starless night sky.

_The Emperor loved you till the very end._

_I must go to my country. There's...someone waiting for me._

There is none left to rule Archanea, save Nyna herself. No father, no husband. Even Boah is gone.

What kind of a queen can Nyna be? A poor one. A selfish one. A foolish one.

Marth would be a good king. _Will_ be. Better than her.

She could say it is for Archanea. But deep in her heart, she knows it is for her, and that does not stop what she does next.

Nyna takes a deep breath. She takes another step to the edge, closer, and another - 

"Empress Nyna?"

Nyna freezes, and turns.

Elice's face looks paler than usual, contrasted with the dark around her. She has traded the white robe for a simple blue dress, and it flutters around her legs in the wind. "What are you doing out here?"

"I - I could ask the same of you." Nyna folds her hands, trying to hide their shaking.

Elice shrugs. Her hair has been braided over one shoulder, and it moves with her shoulders. "I could not sleep. I feel if I do, I won't awaken again."

 _I wish I felt the same,_ Nyna almost answers. Aloud she says only "I see."

Elice comes to stand next to her on the cliff face, her bare feet gentle over the grass. Even now, she seems so tall, even though she stands half a head shorter than Nyna. So proud, so strong, in all the ways Nyna isn't.

"I always hated empty night skies," Elice says, looking up. "They made me feel so...directionless."

Nyna doesn't answer.

"Marth liked them," Elice continues. "He said they held...infinite possibility. That, I think, is the difference between us. Even looking at the same sky, I see the worst of things, and he the best…" She seems to shake herself. "Are you well, Ny - Queen Nyna?"

"I am - " _Afraid, alone, despairing, overjoyed, heartbroken, terrified, relieved, lost._ "I am well enough. And you?"

Elice lowers her head. "To tell the truth, Queen Nyna...I am ashamed. Ashamed that I fell into Gharnef's hands yet again. I feel like such a fool."

"You fought to the last to protect your homeland," says Nyna quietly. "Meanwhile, I allowed my own husband to be possessed by dark forces, and endangered all of Archanea. If you are a fool, then I am twice that."

"What could you possibly have done?" Elice asks.

Nyna's hands clench into fists. "You - do not understand."

"That is true. Marth has not told me the full story."

"All of it was my fault," Nyna continues, unable to stop the flow of words. "I - I failed Hardin. I lied to him, and broke his heart, and that is why - that is why he was lost. He was a dear friend, and I cared so much for him, and he is dead, and it is my fault."

Elice's brow furrows. "Your Majesty…"

"If only I had been honest with him from the very start." Nyna tightens her fists, feeling nails bite into her palms. "If he knew I had only married him because I was forced to - perhaps it would not have been so painful for him. Perhaps none of this would have happened, and you would never have had to endure captivity again - "

"Queen Nyna."

"And - " Fresh tears brim in Nyna's eyes. "What good was any of it? All that I worked for, all that my father died for - all of it was lost - because of me - because I failed - how can I ever be queen? I cannot rule Archanea, I cannot be trusted - "

"Nyna!" A hand grips her wrist. "That's enough."

Nyna nearly recoils from the touch, startling backwards. Elice releases her as if burned. For a moment, under the yawning void of the sky, they stare at each other.

"I apologize for being forward," says Elice at last, her voice cool and steady as ever. "But now is not the time to doubt yourself, Empress. Many people are depending on you. The continent is depending on you."

Nyna takes a shuddering breath.

Elice shivers as a breeze blows past. "We should return. The others will worry if they see us gone."

"I am fine," Nyna says. "You go ahead."

"Come back to camp," Elice says, holding out her hand. And while her tone is soft and gentle, there is no disguising the order.

Nyna resists, nonetheless. "I will be along in a moment."

"I must insist, Empress Nyna."

Nyna glances at the hand, and back at the cliff, before placing her own in it. "Very well."

"Good." And Elice leads her back to the others.

\---

Nyna returns home to no fanfare, no celebration. Her people watch her with worried eyes. Gone are the days when they cheered for her, danced in the streets as she passed - now, she is no longer a symbol of freedom, but of chains. The fool queen who married a tyrant.

(Despite Marth's fervent efforts, history will remember Hardin as nothing but.)

It is only what Nyna deserves. They do not boo her, at least, nor throw rotten fruit as she passes. But in some ways, she wishes they would. Instead, the Archaneans only stare, and cling to each other, and scramble away from her procession as if afraid of her very gaze.

Nyna maintains her frozen mask through it all.

"They'll come around, in time," says Midia once. "As you undo the damage, they'll love Your Majesty again."

_They should not._

"It wasn't your fault, Your Majesty," says Jeorge lowly. "Do not worry. The people will come to understand."

_It was._

Linde has gone to Altea; Merric sent for her, and while whatever project they are embarking on has yet to be revealed to Nyna, Linde's eyes had lit up as she spoke of it. In her absence, Nyna has none for company but subservient guards, stuffy lords, and her new advisers, all scrambling to fill Boah's shoes as they guide an amateur queen through the business of ruling a continent.

Plans are still underway to reunite the Empire, but they have been drastically slowed. Gra and Grust are still vassal states, Macedon nearly there; Talys and Altea have pledged their support; there is nothing left of Dolhr or Khadein. But the thought of being responsible for even more countries, even more people, brings a sour taste to Nyna's throat.

She works, day in and day out, even as all she wants is to go to bed and, hopefully, never rise again. She closes her eyes and sees Hardin's heartbroken face, Camus turning away from her, her people's suffering, pleading eyes.

Nyna deserves this pain. And she must work through it, no matter the cost. It is what a princess - a queen - would do.

\---

The invitation comes a few months after Medeus is slain. It is gilded in silver, stamped with Altea's seal, announcing the union of King Marth of Altea and Princess Caeda of Talys. A personal note is scribbled on the back, in Caeda's hand - _Second time's the charm, right? I hope to see you there!_

All who fought alongside Marth receive them, commoners and nobility alike. As Empress Archanea, Nyna has no room to refuse. And she would be lying if she said the thought did not cross her mind - she has no time to celebrate, and even less energy to spare, and the idea of smiling at a party for hours makes her feel faintly ill. But that would go against all she knows of diplomacy, so when another month has passed Nyna makes the journey to Altea, and notes Archaneans ducking into their homes as her carriage rumbles down the streets of Pales.

\---

The ceremony is beautiful. Caeda is resplendent in white and red, Marth cannot keep the grin from his face, and Nyna's smile almost doesn't feel false when she gives them her well-wishes in the receiving line. The party, however - it is a whirl of chaos, a packed ballroom of dancing and food and joy, and Nyna sits at a small corner table while her food grows cold, rejecting all invitations to dance and dreading every moment she is spoken to. It would be poor form to run back to the privacy of her guest quarters, so she keeps her hands folded on her lap and stares blankly ahead at all the happy, whirling couples and families, emotions tucked safely behind the porcelain mask she calls her face.

"There you are, Empress Nyna."

"Ah…" Nyna blinks, clearing the cobwebs from her eyes. "Princess Elice?"

"The very same." Elice's brow has that telltale furrow as her eyes search Nyna's face. "How are you?"

"Well enough," Nyna answers. "I have been...busy."

"I'm certain so." Elice pauses, as if selecting her words. "Would you care for a moment of fresh air?"

"Pardon?"

"It's gotten terribly stuffy," Elice continues. "And, if you will pardon my saying, Empress, you look rather pale."

Nyna hesitates. "Is it all right?"

Elice nods. "Marth and Caeda won't mind."

Nyna gets to her feet. Elice holds out her arm, a wry smile playing at her lips. Nyna takes the offered arm, allowing herself to be led from the ballroom, down the hall.

"Thank you," Nyna murmurs in an undertone as they walk through the deserted castle. "It was...becoming overwhelming in there."

"I thought so," says Elice. She pushes open a door with her free arm. "Here...Mother kept a garden in this courtyard. I find it a soothing place to go whenever I need a moment."

Nyna steps out into cool evening air. The garden is small, perhaps half the size of Nyna's bedchamber, the stone walls surrounding it heavy with climbing ivy and rose vines. It's a little overgrown in places, just barely shy of a tangled mess.

"It's lovely," Nyna says quietly, taking a seat at a small stone bench. "Thank you."

Elice sits down beside her, smoothing down the skirts of her red gown. A little spring of blue flowers is pinned on her chest. "We can stay as long as you like."

"Won't Marth notice you're gone?"

"He already knows I don't...do well with crowds for long periods of time." Elice makes a slight face. "It was never the case before, but...I spent quite awhile in utter isolation."

"I see."

"Will you answer my question honestly this time, Queen Nyna?"

"Honestly?"

"How are you?"

Nyna looks away from those probing eyes.

"If you don't wish to confide in me, you needn't," Elice continues. "But I would like to know the truth."

"Why?" Nyna whispers. "Why do you keep going out of your way to speak to me?"

"Perhaps I see myself in you," Elice says quietly. "My own pain...and my own failures."

Nyna's hands clench in her lap. "Failures?"

"My failure to defend Altea in my father's absence," says Elice. "My failure to save my mother. Allowing myself to be captured by Gharnef - and then years later, when my brother was away, letting Altea fall and myself be taken once again. Our stories are...not dissimilar, are they?"

"I...suppose not." Nyna draws in a breath. "But, Princess Elice...you may think yourself a failure, but you have not failed in all the ways that I have."

"I cannot know what those ways are if you do not enlighten me."

"You…" Nyna's voice trembles. "You must promise not to think less of me." She is unsure why, but the thought of those deep eyes filling with disappointment is enough to make her heart constrict in her chest.

"I promise," Elice says. Her voice is low and solemn.

"You know that Hardin...was possessed by Gharnef," Nyna says. "That he was...driven mad by...by his unrequited love for me. Gharnef found that weakness of his, and used it to take control."

"Marth told me as much," says Elice. "But you cannot be held responsible for merely not loving someone."

"I should never have married him," Nyna whispers. "Not without telling him the full truth. That I did not harbor feelings for him. Instead, I pretended to love him, and it was that deceit that broke his heart. Had he not suffered so, none of this would have happened. But that false marriage was...not the worst of my sins."

Elice waits.

"When I was held captive by Dolhr…" Nyna stares at one of the rose vines, unable to meet Elice's eyes. "During the first war. I...I was in the custody of General Camus of Grust." She hasn't spoken his name in months, and it makes her throat burn like acid. "He was my jailer, but he was...kind to me. He aided and abetted my efforts to lead a resistance. And in time...I knew it was wrong, but I…"

The rose is curling and black at the corners, wilting off the vine.

"Nyna," Elice says gently, filling the silence. "You can tell me."

"I fell in love with him." Nyna's fingers are tight enough in her skirt that her nails are biting into the fabric. "We...had an affair. It was...foolish of me. I knew who he was. I knew he valued his duty above all else. And I knew that he...that he brought about the deaths of my entire family, and countless innocents. Yet when he looked at me...I forgot it all. I only wanted him. I would have let Archanea burn, if it meant he would live."

Elice doesn't say anything.

"In the end, Camus faced Marth on the battlefield. I pleaded with him to reconsider, to come to my side...but he did not heed me. Marth's blade pierced his chest. He died in the motherland he loved." Nyna blinks hard. "At least...I believed that."

"Camus lives?" Elice says lowly.

The rose is blurred by Nyna's tears. "When I was freed from Gharnef's thrall...I saw a man. I knew it was him. I still do not know how he could have possibly lived, but...it was Camus. He was there. I held him in my arms, I know - I know it was real. But he...he told me…" Nyna screws her eyes shut. "He said that...he had to return to his country. That he had...someone waiting there for him."

"And he left."

"Yes." Nyna takes a deep breath; it shudders as it leaves her. "Camus lived. And after all these years I longed for him, he no longer loves me. Perhaps he never did. In the end, I deserve this suffering. Perhaps - perhaps this is how Hardin felt. It is only fair, then, that I should suffer like this, but I - but I - "

Elice's hand rests on her shoulder. "Nyna."

Nyna gulps back her tears. "I - forgive my composure - "

Elice's arms wrap around her. Nyna stiffens, her heart pounding in her ears. 

The other woman's arms are firm, but gentle. If Nyna wished, she could easily slip free. But they are warm, and safe, and they ask nothing of her. 

How long has it been since someone held her like this? Perhaps since before her mother died…

"It's all right, Nyna," Elice says softly. "You can cry all you wish. I will be here."

Nyna turns her head into Elice's shoulder, unable to fight the sobs that rack her body, crying like she had when she clutched Gradivus against her chest back in Grust, and Elice only holds her more tightly, as if she could press Nyna's grief away.

Eventually, Nyna pries her face free of the damp mess she has made of Elice's shoulder. Elice sits back, and Nyna fumbles in her sleeve for a handkerchief.

"You must think me such a fool," Nyna manages, wiping her face. "To have fallen for a man like that…to have relied on him, thought he was all I lived for..."

"You were in a terrible situation," says Elice softly. "I cannot judge the choices you made. And I know it was difficult for you to bear your heart in such a way. I appreciate you telling me."

"Only you, Marth, and Boah ever knew," Nyna confesses. "I told Marth in the hopes that he would be able to spare Camus's life...and Boah pried the secret from me when I resisted marriage."

Elice's fingers brush against Nyna's cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "I am honored, then. I feel I ought to share a secret with you, in turn."

"You do not need to."

"I wish to."

"Very well, then."

"I told you once why I was not my father's heir," Elice says.

"Yes...that you could not wield the Falchion."

"It was not the whole truth." Elice's lips quirk. "I never laid a hand on the blade."

"Then…"

"My father never allowed it. He did not wish to have a princess for his heir. That is the truth." Elice shrugs. "I was sworn to secrecy. I told even my mother and brother that Falchion had been dull in my hands, and devoted myself to the study of magic and healing. Honorable pursuits, and if I am truthful, ones I am more suited to than the sword. And, as I told you once, I have never held any desire to be queen."

"I see," Nyna says softly. "But that is...dreadful."

"Father was a good king," says Elice. "But he was not a good father...and perhaps, not a good man. Marth does not know. And I prefer it this way. Let the dead rest in their graves."

"We both rely on our masks, don't we?" Nyna says quietly.

"We do," says Elice. "I appreciate you letting yours down for me."

"You truly do not think me...?" Nyna swallows, unable to put her fears into words.

"I think you are a very strong woman to even still be living today," says Elice. "And I am glad of that. I am happy to know you, Queen Nyna."

Nyna's smile trembles, and makes her cheeks sore. It is the first true one she has worn in quite some time, and feels foreign. "And I you, Princess Elice."

"Now…" Elice brushes her hands over the skirt of her dress and gets to her feet. "I did want to ask one more thing of you."

"And what is that?"

Elice holds out her hand, like she had in the cliffs of Dolhr. "Would you care to dance, Queen Nyna?"

Nyna pauses. "Out here?"

Elice smiles. "If you would be willing."

"I…" Nyna averts her eyes. "I have not danced in some time. Not since…"

_Would you care to dance, Camus?_

_If my princess wishes it._

But that memory, as clear as it feels, seems to dissipate in the night, in the roses. Nyna gets to her feet, placing her hand in Elice's. "Very well. But I warn you, I am out of practice."

"As am I," says Elice. "I trampled my poor, dear brother's toes back in there. I shall do my best to spare yours."

Nyna rests her free hand on Elice's shoulder. "I appreciate it."

Elice's touch at Nyna's waist is light, careful, but warm. Her steps over the grass are slow and cautious, and Nyna follows them.

"I don't know what to do," Nyna confesses into the night. "I am entirely unsuited to being queen. I know nothing of ruling. I feel...directionless."

"I know even less than you, I am certain," says Elice. "But I hope, Queen Nyna...that whatever you do, it will be what your heart wants."

"I do not think any have said that to me," says Nyna quietly. "They always...tell me what I must do. What is best for me. What is best for Archanea."

"I do not pretend to know any of those things," says Elice. "But I do know that whatever path you choose to walk must be your own."

"I see." Nyna looks over Elice's shoulder, up at the sky. "Thank you, Princess Elice."

The sky has grown entirely dark as they spoke, but it is not empty, twinkling with a few sparse, tiny stars.

\---

Nyna's fingers worry over the edges of her quill. She has written and rewritten the letter, here alone in her bedchamber. And now, there is only the decision of what to do next.

_You must be an honor to Archanea, my Nyna._

_Never abandon your birthright. Never surrender, and never back down._

_Do you intend to ruin everything you've worked for? All for a fleeting fancy? Nyna, were you always this weak?_

_You cannot rule alone, Princess. Be reasonable._

_We will be happy together, Nyna. I will make you happy._

_I must go to my country. There is...someone waiting for me._

_Whatever path you choose to walk must be your own._

All her life, Nyna has been a princess, and then a queen. 

It is time she learned what else she can be. For herself, and for Archanea.

Marth will take care of the continent. The people adore him. He is well-trained, well-suited, surrounded by friends and supporters and a loving wife. In his hands, the land will prosper. Nyna knows all those facts as well as her own name.

Her hands do not shake as she slides the letter into an envelope and writes Marth's name across it. 

Her dress, cloak, and boots are a servant's, stolen from the laundry with a handful of coins left in their place. The wool feels rough and strange against skin used to silk. As Nyna bends to pick up the small rucksack of similarly pilfered food and supplies, her eyes settle on the silver scissors on her vanity. They are meant to be used only for trimming loose threads or brows.

After all, the ladies of Archanea do not cut their hair.

But Nyna is no longer a lady of Archanea.

She should feel something, when the silver blades break the strands of gold like nothing, when the snap of the closing scissors is the only sound in the room, all too loud. But there is nothing left in Nyna's chest but a cold, hollow ache, and so the scissors fall again, and again, until the gold curtain ends at the middle of her back in jagged edges, and her head and neck feel lighter but her heart does not.

Would that all her burdens could be so easily shed.

The envelope is left on her desk, marked with the royal seal, and so Nyna tugs her hood over her head, and slips through the bookshelf passage she once sent Linde through, down into the city, and away from the Millennium Court.

She will never return to it.

\---

Nyna uses the small handful of money she took to purchase a horse, and rides it to Archanea's border. There, she sells it, and eventually finds work at a small convent. The women there come from humble backgrounds. Nyna shows her ability with a staff and they agree to train her in basic housework and medicine. Nyna calls herself Nyla, refuses to speak of her past, and the sisters do not question her - she assumes they are used enough to such situations. Many noble wives "disappear," after all.

Nyna struggles with the work, her hands too smooth and frail to scrub laundry and haul wood, but she continues nonetheless. Several young orphans are being raised here, and she does her best to look after them despite knowing nothing of children (and grows used to their laughter when she does not know how to do things as common as stoking a fire or mending a ripped seam.) It is a quiet life, a peaceful one.

Little news reaches them, but she does hear the announcement of the United Kingdom of Archanea officially reforming, and the coronation of Hero-King Marth, and on that day she goes about her chores with a smile on her face.

Nyna tries not to think about what she left behind - nor warm hands and wilting roses in the night. Nor the fact that even without her crown, she still feels as though an impossible weight rests on her back.

\---

"Miss Nyla," one of the girls asks her one day, "have you ever been in love?"

"Wherever did that question come from?" Nyna asks, setting down her (shamefully tangled) knitting.

"Just wonderin'." The girl twirls a lock of chestnut hair around one finger. She's another foundling, one whose father unceremoniously left her at the abbey door a few months ago, claiming the death of his wife had left no time to care for the child she'd birthed. Even the patient, kind head bishop had glared at his retreating back. "They were reading a story about a princess and her knight, and I thought, you're the closest thing I know to a princess."

Nyna freezes. It takes all of her effort to keep her voice measured and level. "What...what do you mean?"

"Because your hair's all long and shiny, and you're pretty, like a story princess," says the girl matter-of-factly. 

Nyna's shoulders relax slightly. "What is your name?"

"Ella."

"Well, Ella," says Nyna, "you must know there are some things grown-ups don't like to talk about."

Ella's cheeks puff out. "I'm not a little kid! I'm _eight!"_

"Of course."

"I just wanna know what it's like." Ella presses closer, apparently refusing to heed Nyna's subtle tone (or not noticing it at all.) "Is it really like in the fairytales?"

"Sometimes," Nyna says, "and sometimes not."

"So you _have_ been!" The little girl claps her hands together. "Ooo, what was it like? And how many times?"

"How many times?" Nyna echoes, feeling a little lost.

"How many times have you been in love?"

"Once," says Nyna. "Only once. A long time ago."

"What happened? Did you get married?"

 _Yes, but not to him._ "No. We...went our separate ways."

Ella pouts. "That's no fun! Why?"

Nyna wonders how to possibly cease the child's questions. "Sometimes, even when people love one another...they just aren't right for each other."

"But true love can overcome anything!" Ella clasps her hands together. "That's what Sister Francesca says - "

"Not all love is true love."

Ella drops her hands. "Ugh. Fine. But that's really sad."

"It is," says Nyna. "But there's nothing to be done about it."

"Oh, well…" Ella kicks at the dirt. "I gotta go do my chores. I hope you find true love later, Miss Nyla."

As the child runs off, Nyna's not sure why she thinks briefly of blue hair and eyes. 

\---

A year passes since Marth and Caeda's wedding. Nyna goes about her work, developing calluses on her fingers and suntan on her face, and she lets the children braid her shortened hair, and every day comes in and out like the last, until one sunny afternoon she returns from gathering wood to a commotion at the doors of the abbey.

"Ah, Nyla," the head bishop greets her. "There you are. As you can see, we're entertaining a guest."

"A guest?" Nyna asks, thinking of the desperate young women who (much like her) slip through the convent doors with false names and nervous glances over their shoulders.

"Not the usual sort," says the bishop. "It's one of the professors from Pales's new academy of magic."

"All the way out here?"

"They've apparently been visiting orphanages, looking for children with an interest in magic," says the cleric. "Taking them in as students and apprentices. They're interested in a few of the children here."

"That is generous of them."

"It is. Well, come in then, the fire's not going to make itself."

Nyna obediently follows her into the dining hall. There's an unfamiliar figure, stooped to the eye level of a few of the children. A woman, wearing a traveling robe. As she straightens, Nyna catches a glimpse of blue hair, and just as she freezes, the woman turns, and deep, kind blue eyes stare into hers.

The firewood tumbles from Nyna's hands. She does not hear it roll across the floor, nor the children's shrieks of surprise as they scramble to collect the fallen sticks, or the head bishop's confused question, or anything - save one word, quiet in tone but loud enough to fill her entire world.

"Nyna?" Elice whispers. "Is that really you?"

Fate, Nyna reflects, is a funny thing.

\---

The sisters hustle the children from the room, leaving Nyna and Elice alone. Nyna can't speak, only stands frozen as she watches Elice light the fire.

"Well." Elice turns around to face Nyna again. Her blue hair has been cropped to her chin, a gleaming contrast to the simple circlet she still wears. A tome is strapped to her belt. "Are you going to say anything to me?"

Her voice is frosty, and fear spikes in Nyna's gut. For a long moment, she can only stare.

"You cut your hair," Nyna manages at last.

"So did you."

Nyna nods slowly.

"I truly thought I would never see you again," Elice says quietly. "I thought you were dead, truth be told. Your letter to Marth was...ambiguous."

"I…" Nyna swallows. "I...made my decision."

"You did." Something is boiling under Elice's words, her cool tone. "And it was one that, truth be told, I never expected you to make."

"I...I did not wish to be queen," says Nyna. "And I…"

"I never wished to be queen, either," Elice cuts her off. "But if it was my duty - I would not flee from it. I certainly would not place my entire country - nay, continent - on the shoulders of a boy."

"Marth is a grown adult, even if you refuse to see it," says Nyna. "He is not a child in need of shielding - "

"He is naive!" Elice snaps, eyes glinting. "Naive, and soft, and gentle - and I love him for it, do you understand? That child means the world to me! But you would harden his edges, bend his nature, crack his very heart - and he would allow it! He would never deny a request from an ally - so now, my little brother, too softhearted to take the life of a deer, has all of Archanea to rule! Did you think nothing of the consequences of your actions?"

"Of course I did!" Nyna retorts. "What alternative did I have? I am untrained, foolish, I led Archanea nearly to its death! Should I have selected the child king Jubelo? Minerva of Macedon, who fought alongside Dolhr until her own sister was freed? Wendell of Khadein, and his few surviving students? Sheena of Gra, whose country is little more than a cinder of resentment?" The fury bubbling in Nyna's chest takes no prisoners, and she does not even attempt to stop the next words that leave her lips. "Or you, Princess Elice - you, the elder sister of a hero, who fell into the hands of Gharnef not once, but twice?"

Elice does not recoil, or even flinch - her face is a porcelain mask, one that Nyna knows well, is intimately acquainted with, but only from the other side.

"I have destroyed great men, Elice," says Nyna. "Strong warriors, whose edges were hardened enough as they were. Perhaps a soft, gentle, untrained soul is just what Archanea needs to enter the light."

Elice closes her eyes, only briefly. When she opens them again, her voice is measured. "So this is your answer? You will not take back your throne, attempt to rectify your mistakes?"

"Leaving Archanea was the best atonement I could grant it," says Nyna. "With what little faith you have in your brother, you must surely have seen what good he has done, these last few years. I could not have accomplished even a fraction of that."

"He fought for it," says Elice lowly. "You act as if he is naturally blessed. No, he struggles, endlessly - and it is thanks to you, and Hardin, and the rest of you foolish, shortsighted Archanean nobles. One war ends, and within two years, he is forced to lead another. Did you ever think of him? Of his feelings? Do you think he wanted to be your hero - _not once, but twice?"_

"You think he is the only one who has suffered?" Nyna snaps, ignoring the barb. "You think I wanted this? To be the last princess, the last hope, the beacon in a white dress? To be held up as an angel, a perfect statue, to be married off to the highest bidder - "

"I trusted you," Elice cuts her off. "I thought, after Marth's wedding - I thought we would be able to rebuild this land together. But within the month, you left. You left us all to clean up the mess you helped create!"

"I - "

"I did not hold you at fault!" Elice's mask is starting to slip - her brow furrows, her cheeks begin to flush. "I knew you suffered, I knew that none ached more than you at what became of your family, and then of Hardin - but I believed you would work to amend it! I believed you were a great woman, a strong one - and then you fled. You gave up!"

"I did." Nyna's hands clench together. "I thought it best."

Elice scoffs.

"All I brought to my nation was failure," Nyna continues. "Mistakes upon mistakes. I thought it best to put an end to that legacy."

"Do not speak to me of failure," Elice hisses. "After all, I am, as you said, a _hero's elder sister."_

Nyna winces. "I - apologize. I should not have said that."

"And yet you did."

"Princess Elice…" Nyna folds her shaking hands. "I - I am sorry. If I am truthful, I did not think about the burden I was placing on you and your brother. I thought only of what I wanted, and what was best for Archanea. I knew Marth would rise to the occasion, but I - I did not think of what that would cost him."

Elice looks away.

"I…" Nyna bows her head. "I only ask that you not attempt to bring me back to Archanea. It would bring disquiet to Marth's regime, and...and I do not wish to be queen again. Please, Your Highness."

Elice closes her eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is low and measured. "I will not. But tell me this, Nyna...did we mean so little to you?"

"What?"

"You know how deeply my brother cared for you, as a friend and comrade," Elice continues. "As did Caeda, and Linde, and the Archanean army, and so many others...and I felt the same way, Nyna. I considered you a friend. When we worked together during the War of Shadows, when we were imprisoned together, and freed together. I...I thought, when we spoke back during Marth and Caeda's wedding...I trusted you. And I thought you trusted me too. If I am truthful...it is not only for Marth's sake that I resent you. It is for my own. Because you left me behind, with not a word of farewell."

Nyna stares at her.

"Will you say nothing?" Elice's voice trembles. "Nothing to defend yourself?"

"I cannot," Nyna says quietly. "I merely - I was only thinking of myself, and of Archanea. I did not - truthfully, I did not realize you cared so. I was...selfish."

"And in some ways, Nyna...I am glad you were." Elice's head is still bowed. "As...as your friend...I am so happy that you broke free of the path placed before you."

"But…"

"Allow me to finish. As your friend...I am happy. As a sister, I am furious. As a princess, I am resentful. And as someone who - who cares for you...I am heartbroken. Those are all true." Elice lifts her head, and to Nyna's faint horror, her eyes are shining with tears. "You must think me a fool."

"No," Nyna whispers. "No, I could never, I - Princess Elice…"

Elice wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "Forgive my loss of composure."

"There is nothing to forgive." Nyna takes a tentative step closer. "Forgive me for...for abandoning you. I am sorry."

"You owed me nothing."

"Perhaps not, yet I regret it still." Nyna takes another step. "My own cowardice...my weakness."

"You could never be weak," says Elice softly. "Even as I was furious with you...I admired your strength. Your courage."

"Courage?"

"You turned your back on what you had been told to do, and did what you thought best for your country." Elice smiles faintly. "To me, that shows immense courage."

There is little distance between them now, and Nyna isn't sure which of them crosses it first. Only that they end in each others' arms, and Elice lowers her head to Nyna's shoulder, and as they hold each other, Nyna realizes that, for the first time in a long time, there is no whisper of doubt in her mind.

\---

"So you are a professor at a magic academy?" Nyna asks Elice the next day, as they prepare the night's dinner. The clerics had balked at asking a princess to do chores, but Elice had insisted.

"Yes," says Elice, chopping carrots as easily as if she's done it every day of her life. "Merric established it - the culmination of several years' dreams and hard work. He's wanted this for a very long time, you see."

"What of Khadein?"

"Merric said it was time to start fresh," says Elice, tipping the carrots into the stew pot. "Khadein is...too full of ghosts, and lost friends. He left Khadein to Wendell and Arlen. Merric originally planned for the academy to be in Altea, but...when Marth was crowned, we decided to relocate to Archanea."

"We? How many of you?"

"Well, initially…" Elice taps the soup spoon against her chin. "Merric, of course, and Linde. She's been helping him longer than I have - his right hand. Then he brought me on board, and we form the main trio, you would say. I'm the head of healing and restoration magic. Linde's in charge of light magics, and Merric of anima. Khadein's stiff competition for students, but we're making a name for ourselves regardless. We've a number of students applying already - actually, King Jubello and Princess Yuliya of Grust are among those planning to enroll when our doors open."

Nyna pulls a loaf of bread from the oven. "So you have been busy."

"I have," says Elice. "But every so often, I travel around looking for orphans interested in a new life in our soon-to-be-esteemed school. That's why I'm here today. I cannot say I was expecting to stumble across a wayward former empress."

Nyna wipes her hands on her apron. "I...had nowhere in mind, when I left. I merely set out, and found myself here."

"The fates, perhaps. Or the gods." Elice shrugs. "Tired as I am of them meddling, I must say...for this, I find myself grateful to them. I drove myself mad, wondering if I would ever learn your reasons, or even see you again at all."

Nyna's face heats. "Really?"

"Really." Elice pauses. "Those months we traveled with the Archanean League, all our time imprisoned together, and then at Marth and Caeda's wedding...I have always found you fascinating, Nyna."

"I…" Nyna takes a short breath, willing her traitorous lips to move. "I have...often felt the same, Princess Elice. You have always...made an impression on me. I often wished...that I had your strength. Your courage."

"Strength?" Elice tilts her head. "Do you mistake me for my brother?"

"I never have!" Nyna takes her hand. "Do not be silly. I have always admired...your ability to hold your head high, no matter the circumstances. Your will in the face of countless horrors, even when Gharnef had us in his clutches...I envied it. Your compassion for all around you, even one as wretched as I...had I possessed those qualities, Archanea would be a very different place indeed."

"But then, perhaps, we would not stand here today, and I would not be hearing you say these wonderful things to me," Elice murmurs. "So...I prefer this path instead."

"Truly?"

"Truly." Elice covers Nyna's hand with her own.

For a moment, they only look at each other, and the bubbling of the stew behind them makes Elice's eyes widen. She whirls around, hurrying to the stove. "Damn! It's overdone."

"Nobody will mind," says Nyna, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "Should a princess really curse so?"

"A princess who is a poor cook." Elice hauls the pot onto the countertop, safe from the fire. "Please do not speak as my mother did."

"I apologize." Nyna folds her hands. "I should go tell everyone dinner is ready."

"Before you go...there was something I wanted to ask."

"What is it?"

"It's not only students I've been searching for, Nyna. In fact, we're also in need of professors." Elice rests her hand against the back of her neck, looking suddenly bashful. "In particular...we could use one more well-versed in the staff."

Nyna stares at her.

"If you are interested in the position," Elice continues, "then it is yours."

"You would really want me back?" Nyna whispers. "After everything?"

"I would be lying if I said I was ready to forgive you fully," says Elice. Her cheeks have gone pink. "But I never stopped caring for you, and I...I would like to have you with me. But only...only if you wish it. Do not feel as though you must, for my sake."

"I would be recognized…"

"None will be expecting to see you," says Elice. "Particularly with your hair shorter, a false name, and clad in simple clothes...had I not spent all that time locked away with you, I wouldn't have realized who you were. But again, it is your choice. I want you to do what your heart dictates."

"I…" Nyna hesitates. "I will consider it."

Elice smiles. "That is all I ask."

\---

For a few more days, Elice remains at the convent, making arrangements to bring a few children back to Pales. Meanwhile, Nyna ponders.

It would be a quiet enough life, Elice says, if not as quiet as the one Nyna leads now. She would be able to make an income of her own, and live in the teachers' quarters on the school campus. And Nyna is in fact skilled with staves, certainly enough so to teach a few classes. She would be of great use.

And, if she is truthful, Nyna likes the idea of being where Elice is. There is a peace at her side she seems unable to find anywhere else.

So when Elice has loaded up her wagon with supplies and children, preparing to make her journey back to the capital, Nyna packs away what few possessions she calls her own and joins her.

Elice's smile is enough to light the sun.

\---

The Archanea Academy of Magic is close to the Millennium Court (no longer called such, Elice tells her on the ride there - Marth had decided that with a new royal family there would be a new title. It is only Archanea Castle now.) It is not technically on the grounds, but it is property that belongs to Marth regardless. And it looks the part - a towering central building in white and brown brick, framed by dormitories for students and living quarters for teachers. Nyna is uncertain what the buildings' original purpose had been, but Merric, Linde, and Elice had tackled the redecoration with vigor, filling the rooms with books, tomes, and staves of all kinds.

Merric is baffled by Nyna's arrival, but agrees to both hire her and keep her secret. Linde bursts into tears at the sight of her, and Nyna fears scolding, but Linde only expresses her relief and vows to continue to be a friend all her days.

(Marth has also been told, but Nyna does not wish to see him. She cannot bear to look into the face of the person she unloaded her duties upon, not yet. Besides, Marth is busy, and despite being the official sponsor, has no time to spend at the academy.)

(There are others she must speak to, other apologies she must make - and she both hopes and fears she will have opportunity to, in time.)

Nyna's living quarters are small - a bedroom and a little sitting area, not quite as nice as Merric or Elice's apartments - but they are bigger than what she has had for the last year, and comfortable enough. She spends the last weeks before term largely practicing her staff and looking over the lessons and curriculum Elice has already prepared, driving all thoughts of Marth and her former title from her mind.

Classes begin as the springtime does, and the few-dozen students march into their classrooms on the first official day of Archanea Academy's operation. Much to Nyna's faint surprise, it all goes quite well. She fumbles with her words a bit, drops her staff once, but the listeners are attentive and seem pleased with her lecture.

Elice always meets her in her classroom when the lunch bell rings, and they walk to the courtyard together, taking lunch under a towering oak tree and watching the children chase each other around the campus while the teenaged students lounge in the sun-warmed grass.

"Have you been settling in well?" Elice asks one day, after their meals are finished. "I haven't had much time to check in, with getting everything running."

"I have," Nyna assures her. "I admit, I did not expect to enjoy it so. Though I fear I am still not the best with young children."

"That's why I gave you the older class," Elice says brightly.

"And I do appreciate it."

"I'm glad." Elice sighs, looking out at the frolicking (and not-frolicking) students. "We worked for this for quite some time...it's wonderful to finally see all our efforts bear fruit."

Nyna watches sunlight dance across blue hair. "I'm happy to have helped, if only a little."

Elice smiles, reaching out to brush Nyna's bangs back from her face. "Your presence is help enough."

"I do feel better," Nyna whispers, softly enough that no curious child can overhear. "I feel as though I have...found a place where I belong. Where I fit. And I am able to live...only for myself. Only as I choose."

"I feel the same," says Elice. "I prefer the sound of professor to princess."

"As do I." Their hands have found each other's on the grass. 

"I have seen you smile so many times since coming here," Elice continues. "It is wonderful."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I felt before that I could count your genuine smiles on one hand. But here, your smiles are endless. I have even heard you laugh. And when you are sad, or angry - you express it, instead of turning a blank face to the world."

"You speak as if I was some sort of mannequin."

"Weren't you?"

"I wasn't," Nyna says slowly. "But I often pretended to be."

Elice's thumb runs over the back of her hand. "You needn't pretend any longer."

"I don't," says Nyna. "And won't. I have no need to, nor desire."

The bell rings, and Elice offers Nyna her arm, and they walk back to the school together.

\---

Nyna finds herself in Elice's apartment, most weekend nights. She feels drawn to her, towards the comfort and warmth she provides, and Elice always has a pot of tea or bottle of wine waiting, and a bright smile, and her hands are soft when she leads Nyna to the sofa in her bedchamber.

And, Nyna reflects as she watches Elice tell a tale of Merric's backfiring wind spell, she isn't afraid at all. Guilt, and fear, and heartbreak - those emotions still lurk in her heart. But they also feel as though they belong to a Nyna long past, a shadow of the woman she is today, driven away by a light too strong for any darkness to fester in its warmth.

It is not as though she never falters. But the obstacles in her path feel surmountable now, the weight of old grief no longer dogging her ankles. And there will always be another to help her take the next step forward.

"Nyna?" Elice tilts her head. "You seem distracted."

Nyna sets her teacup down besides Elice's on the coffee table. "I apologize. I was thinking."

"A coin for your thoughts, then."

"Can I - " Nyna pauses as she turns to face her coworker. "I would like to try something."

"What is it?"

Nyna rests her hands on Elice's shoulders. "I would like to kiss you."

Elice's breath catches.

"Is that all right?" Nyna cannot keep the tremor from her voice.

"I…" Elice swallows. "Might I say something, first?"

"Anything."

"I love you," Elice whispers into the night. "I think I fell in love with you that night we danced in Altea. When you disappeared, I hated myself for not being enough to make you stay. And when we met again, I saw your eyes, and I fell in love with you all over again. A part of me despised myself for that."

"You're wrong," Nyna answers her, softly. "You were always enough."

Elice's hand cups her cheek. "And so were you."

Their lips meet, and Elice tastes like tea and summertime and new beginnings, and she draws Nyna close on the sofa until they are curled together, no space left between their bodies.

"I love you," Nyna murmurs as they draw apart, and she has spoken those words before, but they always felt like a curse, a burden, a brand. Tonight, they are a blessing, more holy than any prayer.

Elice only smiles, and her fingers twine with Nyna's as she leans in to kiss her again. Somehow, Nyna finds herself laughing between each press of lips, until Elice begins to laugh too, and they roll across the sofa tangled together, both too happy for even romance, too free for words.

And as the stars shine outside, filling the room with warm blue, Nyna feels no burdens upon her back.

**Author's Note:**

> Title - "Grow," The Oh Hellos.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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